Smoke and Stars
by The Black Sun's Daughter
Summary: "Mind you, sometimes the angels smoke, hiding it with their sleeves, and when the archangel comes, they throw the cigarettes away: that's when you get shooting stars." ― Vladimir Nabokov


The night is just the right side of cool, and Jacob's grateful for the good weather as he leans up against the railing of the walkway, blowing idle smoke rings into the air and trying not to cough too much. He hasn't had a cigarette in years.

"You smoke?" a familiar voice asks from behind him.

"Nope," Jacob replies with a smirk without turning around. "Holdin' it for a friend."

Ezekiel rolls his eyes. "Smart-arse." He walks over to lean his arms up against the railing next to Jacob, mirroring his stance. "I guess I didn't picture you as the type."

"M'not, really. I think I smoked a single pack when I was 19 and called it quits. But it was either this or punch Carsen in the throat, so." He blows a smoke ring, taps the ash off the end.

"Well, in that case, you got another one?" Ezekiel asks.

He shakes his head. "Nope. Bummed this off the doorman on break. I didn't think you smoked either, punk."

"I'll try anything once, cowboy."

Jacob smirks and holds out the cigarette. "Here." At Ezekiel's sceptical look, he huffs. "What, you afraid I got cooties or somethin'?"

The younger man takes it from him, shaking his head. "You know, for someone who likes to act like a Mr. Goody Two Boots, you really are a smart-arse," he remarks, taking a drag and making a face like Jacob had. He'd never really gotten used to it, either.

"It's my secret weapon." Jacob tilts his head back to look up at the sky. Tonight is one of those perfectly clear, cloudless nights where it seems that every star in creation is visible. He sees the split-second flash of green as a meteor burns up in the atmosphere and remembers the time someone said that shooting stars were really just angels flicking away their cigarettes so God didn't catch them smoking. It always makes him smile a little, thinking that annual meteor showers are yearly parties in Heaven, like a birthday.

"Pretty, isn't it?" Ezekiel remarks, his head tilted back; when Jacob gives him his own sceptical look, the thief shrugs. "Hey, we both appreciate pretty things, mate, just in different ways, yeah?"

"Fair enough."

"Wherever we go, whatever happens, Mickey, when I look up at the stars, I'll know you'll be looking up at the same ones," Ezekiel mutters, half to himself, flicking the butt of the cigarette away, the still-lit end glowing brightly for a second _(like a shooting star,_ Jacob thinks) before it lands on the pavement and goes out.

Jacob smiles; that movie was _great._ "And when he shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars, and he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night, and pay no worship to the garish sun," he replies.

Ezekiel snorts, straightens up and turns around to lean his back against the rail. "Romeo, O Romeo," he says sarcastically.

He resists the urge to tell the thief that it is, actually, and digs in his pocket for a packet of mints, tearing one out of the foil packaging and popping it in his mouth before offering one to the other man.

"No, thanks, mate."

"Do you want to get the lecture from Eve?" Jacob asks, knowing that they will absolutely get one from their Guardian and possibly from Cassandra too.

Ezekiel considers that for a second, then takes one of the mints. He makes a face again, and Jacob can't really blame him. The kind of mints he gets could strip the bark off a tree. "Want to head back in?" he asks.

"Not really, no." Flynn is getting on his very last nerve, and where he's from, if someone is incapable of shutting their mouth, it is perfectly acceptable to shut it for them. Hard. With whatever's heavy and in immediate reach. Some days, Jacob can _almost_ get what Eve sees in Flynn; other days, he wonders if maybe she's a closet masochist and just enjoys suffering.

That actually makes Ezekiel laugh, a warm sound. "Fair enough, mate. Well, at least we've got a good view," he remarks, glancing upwards again. After a moment, he sighs. "O, speak again, bright angel, for thou art as glorious to this night, being o'er my head, as is a winged messenger of heaven." At the stunned look Jacob throws him, the thief smiles, a real, actual smile instead of the daring flash of teeth that's almost a warning. "There was a movie."

"Of course there was," he replies without even the littlest bit of sarcasm. "Naturally."

Another little flash of green in the sky, and the thief says idly, "Make a wish."

He would've anyways. Aloud, he says, "You know shooting stars are just angels throwing away their cigarettes so God doesn't catch them smoking."

That gets him another smile. "Heaven's a non-smoking section, then?"

"Of course. Why do you think the Devil got kicked out?" Jacob replies.

Ezekiel nearly chokes on his gum laughing, and he laughs, too, turning to lean his back against the railing.

And if his shoulder happens to press up against Ezekiel's when he does, well, who's to say, except for the stars.


End file.
